Save Tonight
by Morning Dew
Summary: One-Shot! When an immortal slayer accidentally kills a newsboy under the guise of a vampire, he's tried for murder...and immortal laws aren't lenient. This is the story of his parting with his lover...


DISCLAIMER: Well, Spot Conlon doesn't belong to me. But Runner Conlon does, as do the other original newsboys in this story. So what now? *sticks tongue out at Disney* And the song lyrics for "Save Tonight" are from Eagle Eye Cherry. 

A.N.: Yea, so "Mortal Elixir" received good feedback. That story is actually a one-shot, but that little note wouldn't fit into the summary, and then aside from that I had forgotten to add a note within the story itself. So for those of you who were awaiting another chapter, there isn't one to wait for. ^_^ Sorry. But uh…here's a new work from me! 

**~*Save Tonight*~**

_Go on and close the curtains   
'Cause all we need is candlelight   
You and me and the bottle of wine _

_And hold you tonight…_

            Lucas Conlon. Among those who walked the crime-laden streets of New York under a full moon with intentions that very much differed from that of an ordinary human being, the name meant something. In those taverns and bars where only society's recluses congregated under the veiling of heavy cigarette smoke as thick as fog and where the smell of fear was as detectable as that of ale on a drunkard's lips, the name meant even more. 

            In a time when hell's fire wasn't as nightmare-inducing as a midnight stroll through Harlem, Lucas Conlon was a savior to the masses. A kind-hearted core protected with stone layers of fierce defense, he was an admirable individual across the state…even throughout the globe, as his tale was one that marked various countries. He was wise as a serpent, and never forsook natural street-smarts and savoir faire for knowledge. He knew when a situation required either or both. 

He was handy with a katana, a slender and beautiful sword given to him by an Oriental trader, but his grace was more evidently seen with his respectful crossbow. His senses were keen; eyes with vision as sharp as a hawk's and ears that could pick up the minutest of sounds. The polished elegance by which he combated with others in hand-to-hand battle was stunning, and his talent of 'hunting' was unparalleled. 

But as with all great legends, his time would inevitably pass. 

It was an autumn night, and he, much too burdened by a sin he had unintentionally committed, was reclining onto a soft couch in the humble abode he shared with his lover, musing over the wrongdoing and heartily praying for his redemption. The room's only source of light came from the candle that stood before him atop the piano, its wild flame dancing to a ghastly melody. Shadows flickered across the walls surrounding Lucas, his subconscious shuddering at the gossamer illusions, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

A young woman walked into the sitting room, then. She was of medium stature, with long curly locks and gentle brown eyes that mirrored her concern. Her full lips were pulled into a frown at the moment, her eyebrows furrowed with sadness. She stood there with a glass of red wine in each hand and bit her lips to keep the sob from escaping her mouth, but the effort was futile. 

Lucas glanced up and sighed sadly. "My love, don't mourn for me. It will all be over in due time." He rose from his seat like a cat, in one movement, and strode over to her with a gait that spoke of his self-assuredness and pride. "There's no helping it," he whispered into her ear as he wrapped his arms around her from behind. "What's done is done."

_Well , we know I'm going away   
And how I wish , I wish it weren't so  
So take this wine and drink with me  
Let's delay our misery ..._

            She shook her head childishly, half-expecting their misfortunate fate to dissipate in the doing. "But why, Lucas? Do you truly think that's fair? Do you truly believe it was your fault?" She turned to face him and studied his features for an answer, but there was none to be found. 

            His pastel green eyes had by now lost their trademark gleam…left behind was only indifference. And now here was this petite woman grieving for him; it was enough to break him apart. Quite the sight that would have been, for Lucas was a tall and proud young man. He was of strong build, with broad shoulders and a hard chest. His features were sharp, almost Elvin in reality, and he had the look of a great Roman Caesar about him. 

            "Darling…" He spoke the word soothingly, as if it were a warm entreaty whispered inside cathedral walls. "I wasn't supposed to interfere with their world; they're the very ones I try to protect day by day! One who commits a crime in the mortal world must be dealt a mortal punishment. And this is what the humans do to their kind…kill one another." 

            Tears streamed down her face like rainwater trickling down a windowpane and blinking them away only clouded her vision all the more. "You were mistaken, though. It was an accident! How can they hold it against you?"

            He gently grabbed her face in his hands and smiled sadly. "Whether by accident or not, a human life ended by my own doing, and for that I'll surely pay." He kissed her forehead and pulled her closer to him for an embrace he felt would sustain his life for the time being. How it hurt him…knowing his passing from this life was only hours away. He wondered upon his soul, whether it would ever reunite with that of his lover's, but the daunting possibilities forced him to muse over another matter.

            "My love," he said, still holding her close, "our last night together shouldn't be spent like this…" He pulled her back at arm's length and took from her one of the wine glasses. "To the integrity of an immortal," was his toast, and after he bumped glasses with the girl's, he consumed the red substance with insatiable desire. How the red reminded him of the blood that was shed that day…

_Save tonight, fight the break of dawn   
Come tomorrow, tomorrow I'll be gone_

_Save tonight, fight the break of dawn   
Come tomorrow, tomorrow I'll be gone…_

The sidewalks were somewhat slippery, a result from the afternoon showers that had graced the tarnished borough called Brooklyn. Lucas slid dangerously towards an oncoming horse carriage as he made a sharp turn around a corner in pursuit of a young newsboy who looked to be approaching his sixteenth year in life. Righting himself from the near fall, he took off after the newsboy with renewed determination, dashing down alleyways, through apartment complexes, and across fields where only the hermits took refuge. 

            After twenty minutes of the redundant cat-and-mouse game, the newsboy grew clumsy and would stumble every so often. Eventually, he ceased to run altogether. With his back up against the brick wall of an alley's dead end, he held his hands up helplessly as his stalker approached him. 

            Lucas grinned at the easy catch, but never once let his guard down. When dealing with his kind, it wasn't necessarily a wise thing to do. He folded his hands behind his back and neared the newsboy in a judging fashion, his accusing eyes narrowed and a suave urbanity coating his manners. "Have you recently been turned, child? Any fool should know that Brooklyn is my hunting ground."

            "I-I…don't know what y-you're talking about…"

            "You will speak when spoken to," the elder replied with a hand gesture that instantly silenced the newsboy. Unimpressed with the youth's stuttering reply, Lucas merely relied on destroying his mind barriers and searching his thoughts for answers. "Ah," he said after a moment, "so your name is Trey?"

            The one named as Trey began to tremble with horror. "Please…I apologize…I'm unfamiliar with this area…" 

            From an inside pocket of his raven-black coat, Lucas brought his beloved crossbow into sight, one steel-tipped arrow's metal glimmering in the moonlight. "My sympathy goes out to you, Trey. But what kind of slayer would I be were I to set another beast free into this world?" He shrugged nonchalantly, brought the weapon up for aim, and pulled the trigger while Trey's screams filled the air. The newsboy's body fell limp to the ground and Lucas waited for the corpse to disintegrate into burning ash…but it never happened. 

            Utterly confused, he hurried to the deceased form and inspected the body closely. Just as he reached out a hand to retrieve his arrow, a single applause filled the pressing silence. Lucas spun around and found himself staring into a pair of sapphire blue eyes. Spot Conlon. 

            Spot wore a smartass smirk that clearly told anyone he would give them hell and not regret a single minute. His passion dwelt with torturing both those of the human and vampiric race, and his notorious reputation for murdering without remorse made him a prodigy none would ever forget. He was a slender young man, well-built and bearing a ruffian image, but his true power lay in the way he could manipulate any creature with a single word…even a thought. He was most powerful; having descended from a strong heritage of demonic forces, and was undoubtedly the Lord of the Undead, as far as he and his minions were concerned. 

            Lucas stared at him in shock; they had once been cousins, but Lucas had abandoned the dastardly trade while yet young and had taken up a new art: that of killing those who would otherwise disrupt the mortal's way of life. "How fine of you to stop by, Spot. Come to avenge the death of your fledgling, here?" 

            The smirk never left the master vampire's face. "You fool," he hissed, his upper lip curling to show two abnormally long canine teeth. "How idiotic of you to think a weakling as this one could have any association with my dynasty." He combed back a sandy-blonde lock of hair that had fallen across his face and yawned lazily. "The boy was a mere mortal, Lucas. I possessed his mind with my own identity; bonded with him mentally, so to speak. It was a trick to draw vampires to my brood, but look at what you've done!" He waved a chastising finger at his younger cousin in mockery. "You killed my little mortal messenger boy."

            "No…" Lucas turned back to face the newsboy's body in complete shock. It wasn't supposed to happen as so, he was supposed to bring the evil to justice, not the innocent! He dropped to his knees and cradled the boy's body in his arms. "No!" he yelled to himself. But the boy's soul had already departed from the flesh…

_There's a log on the fire   
And it burns like me for you  
Tomorrow comes with one desire  
To take me away…_

            Lucas was brought to trial, though the jury that tried him consisted of immortals such as himself who knew the code of honor among their kind. Held in an abandoned wine cellar, the room more so had a sense of community than one of accusations. An elemental priest blessed with powers of Healing was elected as judge for the event, the prosecutor none other than the crafty Spot Conlon. The jurors ranged in species from elementals and healers to vampires and spellcasters, and Lucas wouldn't have been surprised had Spot bribed them all with money in return for their condemnation of guilt. 

            The room was scattered with chairs of a rather comfortable nature, dozens of bookcases, and a hearth in one corner that chased away the chills the stone walls threatened to kill one with. The trial was a tiring process, in which similar cases were brought to the audience's attention and similarities drawn between Lucas' crime and those of his predecessors. Immortals carried about their justice system as so; after all, time was ever on their hands. 

            "Master Conlon," the priest said, after having listened intently to Spot's 45-minute long argument on why the slayer should be put to death, "what have you to say in your own defense?"

            Lucas straightened his posture in his chair and spoke with an eloquence that could rival his cousin's. "Your honor, I am well aware of the charges brought against me this morning. I don't in any sense deny them, nor will I stand here like a conceited sycophant and preach to you the laws by which we immortals live. I am a man of my word and this is what I have to say. Yes, I indeed did kill a mortal and my conscience will ever suffer from that ordeal. I upheld a virtuous quest to ever defend the helpless, yet I betrayed that trust and I believe it only fair that I be punished. However, your honor, I do wish to bring it to your attention that were it not for Spot Conlon's meddling in mortal affairs, none of this would have ever occurred." 

            Spot Conlon calmly plopped himself onto a tabletop, unafraid of his schemes being brought out into the open. He carelessly studied over his glassy nails and shrugged. "I do believe this is Lucas Conlon's trial, your honor. And my 'meddling' is simply for the benefit of mortals and immortals alike. I clean up the streets, so that murderers like my cousin are put out of business." He shot the younger a menacing glare. 

            In the end, though by what rational judgment it was never known, Lucas Conlon was found guilty of murder. He would be executed Saturday at dawn. The hearth's fire blazing with fury across from which Lucas sat was of a temperature much too cold when compared to the fury that was boiling through the immortal's bloodstream. 

_It ain't easy to say goodbye   
Darling please don't start to cry_

_'Cause girl you know I've got to go  
And Lord I wish it wasn't so_

Thinking upon the events of the past few days, he suddenly had the feeling as if he had been set up. After all, he and Spot had been rivals since adolescence. They were each the other's number one competition. It wasn't too far-fetched a notion that the elder Conlon would go to any extremes to have his counterpart out of the picture. 

            Lucas mentally cursed for not having seen it sooner, but the soft sobs of his lover brought him back to reality. He caressed the young woman's face and pleaded with her not to cry for him…for he believed it not worth her precious tears. "Please…don't do this to me…" he leaned his forehead against hers and kissed her lips tenderly, as if the last breath of life he would ever take could be found in the essence of her being. 

            "I love you," she cried to him, drawing him more tightly against her body. Why did it have to be like this? She had always imagined them being together even through the end of times, entering paradise hand in hand where they would never be separated. "I can't go on without you, Lucas…I don't know…"

            He put two fingers to her lips and shook his head with bitter tears in his eyes. "Don't do this to me," he repeated. "You'll go on just as you did before we even met. And then one day…we'll surely meet again…" He was trying to comfort her, but if he couldn't even find solace of his own in the words, how could he achieve that feat?

            They would kiss several more times that night, the embrace leading them to bed where they would make love to each other for the last time…their bodies saying farewell, their souls not wanting to let go…

_Save tonight, fight the break of dawn   
Come tomorrow, tomorrow I'll be gone_

_Save tonight, fight the break of dawn   
Come tomorrow, tomorrow I'll be gone…_

            The execution was held at dawn for the immortals didn't care too much for letting those of the human race witness their barbaric rituals. And so it was tradition to perform such matters of the heart just as another day was being birthed. Lucas strolled to –Scarlet Death Cemetery-, a burial ground visible only to the immortal eye. Under its earth were buried great sorcerers and such from times dating to before the Native Americans, and the history of the land was cherished. 

            Lucas knelt at the grave of his grandfather, staring at the pale reflection of himself the marble tombstone displayed. 'Josiah Malachi Conlon…Brave Warrior and Patriotic Soul…1192-1897' The young man always thought it a depressing idea that one's entire life was represented by a dash between numbers, and seeing a preview of what his own epitaph would read, he wasn't exactly thrilled. 

            He collected every last fragment of his shattered pride, however, and strolled to the area of the cemetery where executions were held. Rightfully called "The Skull", it was a small hill upon which a wooden cross protruded from the dead grass like the ragged bone of some underground, tortured beast. Spot was already present, clad all in black, for he would be the executioner for the ceremony. To contrast the ghastly view of death, Lucas dressed in a white tunic and slacks, his last plea to the heavens to grant him admission into paradise.

            "A pity you didn't use your vampiric nature to join forces with me," the elder remarked once Lucas stood right before him. "Quite the team we would've made."

            Lucas only looked at him with what seemed to be righteousness. "Your soul can never be any more damned than it already is, Spot. I'd offer a prayer for your salvation, but I fear that in itself may be a sin." He received a hard blow to his face, and toppled backwards from the impact.

            "Your prayers won't help you, Lucas," hissed the elder, bearing his fangs. From behind him, two men stepped forward, grabbed Lucas by the arms, and pinned him against the splintered structure of the cross. They bounded his hands against each arm of the cross with rawhide, and did the same with his feet. It almost appeared to be a crucifixion, but hammer and nails weren't used…only rope. 

_Tomorrow comes to take me away   
I wish that I, that I could stay   
But girl you know I've got to go, oh  
And Lord I wish it wasn't so_

            In the darkness of the early morning, Lucas could still see the wicked smirk on his cousin's face. _May God damn him**, was the last idea he would waste on the wretched vampire. Spot and his lackeys cursed him in Latin, spit onto the ground before his feet, and disappeared off into the woods before the sun's radiance destroyed their nocturnal flesh. Already the blinding beams of sunlight were radiating in the eastern skies. It wouldn't be too long now…**_

            He thought upon his rearing and Celtic tradition. How he had pledged allegiance to countless Slayer Unions throughout the centuries. He thought upon the first time he had set eyes on his lover…how they had danced that night away like two winged angels waltzing on gold-paved avenues. He thought about the first time they had made love…how dear she was to him. His family raced through his mind…his grandfather…a valiant slayer, a legend like himself. Though Lucas thought it ironic to be of vampiric descent yet take up the trade of slaying, he held no regrets. 

            The sun was gaining power now…it was rising into the skies…there were no clouds to shield it from view. Lucas braced himself against the cross. What could be worse than dying in front of one's enemies? The sun's rays were darting through the shrubbery of nearby trees…any minute now. _Perhaps dying only to realize you hadn't yet lived_, he answered his own question.  

            His mind returned to an image of his lover…and just as the sun's power hit his flesh and began to take his life…his last thought was that of always having loved her…

_Save tonight, fight the break of dawn   
Come tomorrow, tomorrow I'll be gone_

_Save tonight, fight the break of dawn   
Come tomorrow, tomorrow I'll be gone…_

            Alone on a hill stands a young woman, her face stained with tears. Her hand holds a single long-stemmed rose…the petals a faded crimson. She walks up to a tombstone, her steps wavering all the while. Kneeling down slowly, she kisses the marble tombstone that bears the name 'Lucas Isaiah Conlon' and drops the rose onto the grave. She remains at the site until midnight…hugging herself and wishing her soul was with her lover…

~*~*~*~

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